


And they call it puppy love

by we_are_the_same



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Puppy Fic, Writer Zayn, self indulgent fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 03:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10711110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_the_same/pseuds/we_are_the_same
Summary: Zayn meets a puppy at the park.





	And they call it puppy love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imlau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imlau/gifts).



Zayn’s always been a dog person. It’s not that he doesn’t care for cats. His oldest sister has one, Aziza, and he’s always enjoyed petting her, getting her to purr under his touch. But  _ dogs _ . He just loves dogs. Loves how excited they are, how genuine and deep their love is. If he allows himself to think on it, it’s probably also got a whole lot to do with the fact that dogs forgive so easily, will not ask for more than walks and food and affection. Zayn can do that. He thinks he might be able to keep a dog from leaving, where he’s not had such luck with boyfriends.

Zayn’s definitely a dog person. Just one without a dog. He hopes to remedy that some day, but for now, his job doesn’t allow him the luxury of buying something soft and furry to keep him company at night. It’s sorta his own fault, he knows that. He could’ve chosen something smarter. Could’ve studied to become a teacher, like he’d planned when he was younger. But instead he pursued writing, had dreams of becoming the next great .. someone. Hopefully not the next great anyone, actually. Just the only Zayn Malik. He wants it so bad he can practically taste it, dreams of the day his books will be in all the major bookstores, will be top of the bestsellers’ list. He knows he has to work hard for it, has to make his miles, write pages and pages and pages until his fingers are sore and he can barely remember which world is the real one. He doesn’t mind. Most of the time, at least, he doesn’t mind.

But then he thinks of how much easier it’d be, if he had a normal job. If he wasn’t in his head all the time, neglecting the people around him. He might be able to make a relationship work. Might not spend nights looking at the local pound’s website, falling in love with all the dogs that have been abandoned, sympathising with them. He might actually be able to get a dog, or maybe he wouldn’t wish for one as desperately if he didn’t miss companionship so much.

Someday, he tells himself. Someday, when he’s ready, things will fall into place.

*

The weather’s nice today. Overcast, but with a promise of sunshine later. Zayn can feel it the moment he opens his curtains, and rather than opting for the coffee shop that he goes to when he needs a change of scenery, he grabs his laptop and his notepad and heads towards the local park. He likes being outside, the fresh air clearing his head and making it easier to write. And he doesn’t mind so much when he gets stuck on days like this, because there’s always something to do. People to watch, get inspired by. Even if he doesn’t write as much as he plans to some days, he never quite feels like he’s wasted his time. 

With a coffee and a sandwich, he makes himself at home on a bench, leaving his laptop in his bag for now, contently sipping at his drink instead. He watches some people jog by, nods his hello when he’s greeted by some lady on a bike. He’s just debating whether to try and toss his coffee cup in the bin from where he’s sat or if he should just get up and dump it when a warm, wet nose presses against his palm. He jumps a bit, hears a soft whine, and when he looks down, he meets brown eyes in a hopeful face. “Oh!” He lets out, delighted, his fingers automatically going to scratch the animal’s head. “Hi there.” The dog gives his hand a hopeful snuffle, large tongue coming out to lick at Zayn’s skin. It makes him laugh. “You hungry, huh? Looking for scraps? I’m sorry boy, I just finished my food.” 

The dog tilts its head, as though it’s trying to understand what Zayn’s saying, or maybe it’s just trying to decide whether getting its head scratched is worth giving up the search for food. Zayn is a little bit endeared, can’t resist playing with the large fluffy ears. “Where’s your owner?” he wonders softly. “You do have one, right?” He keeps petting the animal, surprised when it gets up on its hind legs to give Zayn’s face a large lick. “Eurgh.” He complains, tugging gently at one ear. “If that’s your way of saying thanks for the petting, I’d rather you just didn’t.” 

He’s not sure why he’s keeping up a conversation with the dog, but it’s rather nice, having it near. He wonders what will happen when he stops petting it, if it will wander off in search for food. It’s making him sigh softly, when his hand starts cramping up a few minutes later. “Sorry buddy,” he tells him softly, when the dog lets out a little whine, noses at his hand again. “I gotta work, anyway.” He tries to ignore the way the dog looks - puppy dog eyes aren’t just an expression, clearly - and flexes his hand, finally digging his laptop out of his bag. Watching the dog’s ears perk up, he chuckles. “No food, sorry. You’re gonna have to beg someone else, I’m afraid.” 

The dog tries to stick its nose in Zayn’s bag, as if to check, then goes back to staring at Zayn, head tilted a little bit. Zayn resists the urge to make a face at it, powering up his laptop instead. He’s hardly made it beyond typing in his password before the dog wanders off. 

*

With a good two thousand words written the previous day, Zayn’s pretty happy to see that the weather is holding up. He’s had a productive day at the park, got some inspiration for his novel from a couple that argued nearby, so once he’s dressed, he quickly makes himself some food, before heading back towards the park.

This time he makes it a good half hour into plotting his next chapter before he hears an excited bark. He looks up automatically, mouth curving up into a smile when the dog from yesterday comes bounding towards him. “Hey there,” he tells it, reaching out a hand, the dog nosing at it in greeting. “Did you come to say hello again?” He looks down at the dog, wondering if its owner is nearby, but a quick glance at his surroundings tells him they’re alone. The dog wags its tail, looking up at him, and Zayn chuckles. “If I’d known you’d come back, I would’ve brought you something.” He tells it. “Maybe tomorrow, yeah?” 

He’s pretty sure the dog can’t understand him, but it stops looking up at him with those large brown eyes, and settles near his feet instead. Zayn pets it for a while, before going back to his book, feeling a warm weight on his foot when the dog drops its head on his shoe. It stays there for at least another hour.

*

The next morning, despite the fact that it’s colder, and Zayn would usually prefer to stay indoors, he packs up his bag, adding a bit of leftover chicken to his packed lunch. Just in case, he tells himself, though he knows it’s maybe a bit ridiculous to think that the dog will come back today, will have understood what Zayn told him about bringing it food.

Even so, he’s not surprised when he gets to the bench and the dog is already waiting for him. It yawns, stretches before slowly wandering over to Zayn, nosing at his hand in greeting. Zayn really should not be so endeared by a dog, but he can’t help it, crouches down in front of it to pet it, even when he knows he risks being knocked over. It doesn’t quite happen, but he does get licked in the face, which is rather unfortunate.

Spluttering, he rubs at his face, shakes his head as he puts his bag down on the bench, the dog immediately putting its front paws on the bench to nose at the fabric. “You’re impatient, aren’t you,” he laughs, gently shoving the dog aside so he can rummage through the bag’s contents, digging up the little container that holds the chicken. “This what you’re looking for, is it?” He gets an excited bark, grins. “Alright, alright.” He opens the container, puts it down on the ground, watching in amusement as the dog sticks its nose straight into the container, tries to get to the pieces of chicken. “I was gonna feed you, but with the way you’re scarfing that down, maybe not. I need my fingers.” He teases, shaking his head at himself. He’s having a conversation with a dog. The sad thing is, it’s probably the most he’s talked to anyone in days. 

*

Over the next week and a half, they fall into a sort of rhythm. Zayn makes his way to the park first thing in the morning, regardless of the weather, and most mornings the dog will be waiting for him. On days that he’s not he finds himself looking out for him, unable to really focus until he hears a familiar bark. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t see it, and although Zayn wonders where its owner is, the dog never goes up to anyone else. It seems content to stay by Zayn’s side, accepting cuddles and snoozing on - and drooling all over - his shoes. Most days it gets up around three in the afternoon, will give Zayn one last lick, before going back - presumably towards home. Zayn marvels at its internal clock, at its intelligence, but he can’t help but be forced to admit that he sort of .. worries. The fact that the dog spends all day with him makes him wonder what it is it goes home to. It can’t be that good, if it’s at the park every day.

It’s a Saturday, and Zayn’s a bit later than usual, having been out to a party the night before. He’s not really in the mood to write, but he sort of feels bad about staying in, about not getting to greet his canine friend. He thinks he might have to dedicate his book to the dog, because he’s certainly written more in the past two weeks than he’s done in the month before. And he’s gotten a lot of fresh air, and cut back on his smoking. The dog’s been good to him, really. Once he gets a more steady paycheck he will definitely have to look into getting one. Even if it feels like he will be replacing Lucky - as he’d named the dog at the park. It’s a stupidly cliché name, but Zayn does feel sort of lucky, getting to spend his days with it. And it’s certainly brought him luck, inspired him to write. 

When he gets to his bench he’s a little disappointed to see that the dog’s not there waiting for him. He whistles, calls out “Lucky! C’mere boy!” but today, the dog doesn’t do its name justice. It makes him pout a bit as he sits down, shivering and tugging his coat tighter around himself. Digging his laptop from his bag, he blows at his fingers, unable to resist looking around, waiting for his furry friend to come and keep him company.

He worries, is the thing. When he’s been in the park for an hour and Lucky still hasn’t shown up, he worries. Sure, he knows the dog could just be with its owner, but after seeing him every day for nigh on two weeks, he’s not sure that’s such a comfort. 

He’s stared at his computer screen for a good twenty minutes when he hears a bark, his head shooting up, eyes going this way and that, because he knows that bark. His face splits into a grin when he sees it, the dog rushing up to him, not stopping until it’s actually in his face, standing on its hind legs and putting its front paws on his shoulders to lick at his face. “Hi!” He doesn’t even mind today, just wraps his arms around him, rubbing the dog’s ears and head, stroking its back. “Where’ve you been, boy? I’ve been waiting for you.” He tells it, getting an excited bark in response, one that makes him wince because it’s so close to his ear. 

“Zipper!” He hears someone call nearby, something he wouldn’t pay attention to if it weren’t for the dog suddenly moving, breaking out of his embrace to abandon him in favor of -- Zayn looks up, from legs that are covered up by dark denim, up to a white t-shirt that is sinfully tight in places, a leather jacket, and eyes .. eyes that remind him, even from a distance, of the dog that is currently trying to knock him over. Zayn can sympathise. “Zip! Down!” He hears the boy - man - laugh, the dog giving an excited bark before it sits down at his feet, looking up at him the way it has looked up at Zayn so many times. 

And. Oh. “Zipper?” He can’t help but ask, the man looking up from the dog towards him. Zayn meets his eyes, then looks back at the dog, whose ears are perked up in response to its name. “That’s your - his name?” 

The man frowns, nods. Zayn feels a bit uneasy. “I’ve been calling him Lucky.” He says, scratching at the back of his neck. 

He gets a sudden chuckle in response. “You’re who he’s been running off to, then?” The man steps closer, Zipper excitedly wagging its tail as it follows him, looks from its owner to Zayn and back. “I’ve wondered what he’s been up to. He’s been exhausted these past weeks and I couldn’t figure out why, until I found him breaking out of the house this morning.” He shakes his head, scratches the dog’s head. “He’s been coming here a lot?”

Zayn nods. “Every day for the past two weeks. He’s kept me company while I was writing.” He gestures towards his laptop. “I write.” Zipper’s got his head tilted, the motion towards his backpack not going unnoticed by the dog. “I, um, also bring him treats.”

That earns him another laugh. “Of course you do. Zip, you manipulative little shit.” He sounds fond, and Zayn can’t help but smile. “He’s evil,” the man tells him, inviting himself onto the bench, sitting down next to Zayn, who hurriedly makes room by shoving his laptop into his bag. “No wonder he’s been so keen on getting out.”

“Sorry,” Zayn says softly. He figures he should apologize. Not that it’s his fault that the dog has been breaking out, but he’s probably not helped. “I didn’t-”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” the man assures him, giving him a smile, one that softens when Zipper goes to rest its head on Zayn’s knee, when Zayn automatically reaches out to pet him. “He’s not been bothering you, then?”

Zayn shakes his head. “It’s been nice. I love dogs.”

“You have any?” 

He shakes his head again. “Can’t afford it. Yet. I’d love to have a dog, but.” He shrugs.

The man nods, reaches to scratch Zipper’s head too. The dog obviously ecstatic to receive so much attention, judged by the way its tail is wagging and it’s drooling on Zayn’s knee. “Well, Zip’s certainly taken to you,” he says. “He’s kind of adopted you, apparently.”

Zayn wonders if that’s something he should say sorry for. Bites his lip. “I’m Zayn,” he says instead, wiping his hand on his jeans before extending it towards the man. He grins sheepishly. “Dog hair.”

“Liam,” he mirrors the movement, shaking Zayn’s hand. “Welcome to my life. Zip leaves dog hair everywhere. And drool. So much drool. You sure you want a dog?” 

Zayn can’t help but laugh. “Pretty sure, yeah. I’ve written more in the past two weeks than I’ve done in the month before that. Something about dogs that’s just relaxing.”

Liam laughs too. “There is that,” he agrees, “except when they barf on your carpet in the middle of the night because they’ve gotten into something they shouldn’t have. Zip steals socks, too. And he chews on my shoes. When he’s not drooling on them, he’s chewing them up. I’ve spent way too much money on shoes in the past two years.” He scratches Zipper’s head. “I think it’s ‘cause he’s mad I’m away so much. English Shepherds aren’t really made for being alone for long periods of time, apparently. They need exercise and stimulation and they’re wicked clever - which, obviously, considering he figured out how to get out of the house.”

Zayn has to concede that that doesn’t sound that great. “Why’d you get this breed then?” He wonders, wincing when he realizes that it sounds rather rude.

“Didn’t,” Liam says easily. “Well. Not really. My girlf- my ex girlfriend, she got him when he was just a pup. It was a birthday present for me. We’d been living together, she worked from home -- but then the relationship ended and it was just the two of us.”

“Oh,” Zayn says softly. “Sorry.” He’s not sure if he’s apologizing because of the situation or because he kind of made Liam tell him. 

Liam shakes his head, smiles at him. “It’s alright. It’s better this way. But Zip needs more attention than I can give him, that’s for sure. Sometimes I think he’d be better off somewhere else, but then I look at him and, well. Could you stand to say goodbye to a face like that?”

Zayn lets out a soft sound, petting the dog’s fur. “No,” he says quietly. He thinks he’ll have a hard enough time of it as it is right now.

*

The next day, he’s not surprised to find himself alone in the park. Disappointed, maybe, but not surprised. He hopes that Zipper’s doing ok though. That Liam’s found him something to keep him occupied. Or that he’s giving him plenty of attention. It’s Sunday, so, he should be home, hopefully. Though Zipper had been at the park the past two Sundays, but, that was before Liam knew. He might have been away. God, he hopes Zipper isn’t left alone at the house. Liam had seemed nice, sure, but still. Zayn had made it clear he didn’t mind the company, right? Not that he blames Liam for not being comfortable with his dog roaming around, with not knowing where he was or if he was ok. Zayn hadn’t felt comfortable with that and it wasn’t even his dog. But. Still. He might miss him, just a tad.

When he doesn’t see the dog on Monday, he’s not sure why he even decides to go to the park on Tuesday. Or why he bothers to pack a snack. He does, though, sits himself down on that same bench he’d been sat at two weeks prior, when he’d been surprised by a soft nose pressing against his palm. He starts up his laptop, stares at the background - a picture he’d taken of Zipper, asleep on his feet. The screen gets sort of blurry and he feels equal parts ridiculous and sorry for himself. 

Once he finishes this story, he promises himself, he’ll go to the pound. Get himself a dog. It won’t be Zipper, but it’ll be  _ his _ dog. Not as cute and sweet and excited-

He swallows, hard. Curses himself for being stupid enough to get so attached to a dog that he knew he would never be able to keep. Brushing at his eyes, he lets out a sigh, forcing himself to focus. He grabs his notebook from his bag, fingers bumping into the treat he’s packed for the dog. It makes him swallow again, jerk back before he tells himself he’s being stupid. There’s no point in wallowing. 

(There’s also no point in packing snacks, but, well. One thing at a time.)

Extracting his notebook from his bag, he skims through the pages, the blurbs and character notes he’s jotted down in messy handwriting. He’s trying to decipher an important looking paragraph (the exclamation marks in the margin telling him he thought this was something he should definitely not forget to include) when he hears it.

A bark. Soft at first, so soft that his ears almost didn’t pick it up, almost didn’t recognize the sound. But then louder, followed by the sound of paws on the ground. He looks up, doesn’t dare to believe his eyes. “Zip?” He whispers, face breaking out into a grin when he realizes that yes, this is Zipper. “Zipper!” He shoves his laptop to the side, opens his arms to receive a face full of dog, warm wet tongue licking at his cheeks. “You escaped again? You clever boy!”

His fingers tangle in soft fur, stroking its back, eyes closed as he holds the dog close, allows it to lick away his tears. He goes to scratch the back of his neck when he notices it. The collar around his neck. The note, tucked under the collar.

_ Hope you missed Zip as much as he missed you. Figured it was no fair in keeping him locked up when I’m at work. I’m done at 3 today, bring him home and let’s have a coffee? _

_ X Liam _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please check out the [fic post](http://so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed.tumblr.com/post/159911091498/title-and-they-call-it-puppy-love-author) on Tumblr and admire the gorgeous moodboard my friend made. Liking or reblogging it will make the both of us (and Zip!) very happy too!


End file.
